


Enough

by oswin42



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drugs, Lots of Murder, Minor Character Death, Murder, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:44:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswin42/pseuds/oswin42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is a mess after Sherlock jumps from St. Barts. One day the good doctor snaps. He uses everything he picked up from his time with Sherlock and his time in the army and becomes a killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on here and I hope you all like it.

**[March 2013]**

  Sherlock groaned as the man beat him. The chain holding him up at his wrists, pulling painfully. He hadn’t slept in… He couldn’t quite remember. His body was aching from the cuts and bruises and it had been for a while. His brother had come in about an hour ago.

  It took Sherlock a moment to recognise the voice as Mycroft used a thick Serbian accent when he talked. Mycroft had made a few small mistakes, using Serbo-Croatian where it wasn’t quite supposed to be that, but it had remained unnoticed.

  His torturer grabbed a metal pipe. Sherlock mumbled his deductions about him in a better accent than his brother, though hardly understandable. The reaction was exactly what he wanted it to be. Now it was just him and Mycroft. He kept a half eye on Mycroft as he started talking in that same Serbian accent

“So, my friend. Now it’s just you and me.” He said as he got up.

“You have no idea the trouble it took to find you.” Mycroft crossed the room and took a fistful of Sherlock’s longer, than usual, hair

“Sorry, Sherlock, the holiday is over. You’re needed in London.” He said, now in English. Sherlock grinned.

“Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.”

****

**[September 2011]**

Doctor John Watson leaned on his cane as he walked from the tube station to his small apartment in a less friendly neighbourhood of London. It had been another long and painful day. Anderson had come by. As a patient in his clinic. Still, he talked about Sherlock. It was always Sherlock, Sherlock, and more Sherlock…

  He balled his fist angrily as he remembered Sherlock’s jump, Sherlock’s grave. Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. He walked into the building and get his mail. (Bills. Always bills. Only bills.)   

  He noticed one of the criminals Sherlock had put away. The man had wanted a retrial and gotten free because Sherlock supplied most of the evidence. John balled his fist again, even more angry. This man had confessed to killing his wife and now he was a free man. John closed his eyes for a moment as a plan formed. He smiled politely to the man, as if he didn’t remember him and walked to his apartment. He made tea on autopilot as he made his plans.

****

  The next day, he waited for the man to get his mail, same time as the day before. John opened his mailbox and cursed loudly, getting the man's attention.

  “You alright mate?” The man asked. John took the bottle of strong liquor out of the mailbox.

  “My ex…” John started his well-prepared lie. “Knows I’m trying to stay sober. So she drops bottles of alcohol in my mailbox.”

“That’s tough mate.” The criminal offered kindly. John offered him the bottle “Here. You have it.”

The man took it eagerly as it looked quite expensive. The man, as John had expected opened the bottle and took a long sip of it. John watched the man down half the bottle. One good sip would have been enough but he wasn’t going to complain to have a more pliant victim. John took the rest of his mail out of the box and walked to the elevator with the criminal. He leaned on his stick again.

   “What happened to your leg?” the man asked when he pushed the button of the floor John had to be as well.

  “I got shot” John said a little coldly. “Afghanistan”

  “Oh.” Was all the criminal said in reply, a little uncomfortable. He blinked a couple of times as the drug John had so carefully chosen started to work. He looked drunk and the bottle of liquor helped to that illusion. John was glad this building didn’t have security cameras now. It made this a lot easier. By the time the elevator stopped at their floor he had trouble standing. John held him up with a gloved hand.

 “Careful,” The man leaned on Johns shoulder, now dizzy. “Relax,” He told the man, “You’re safe.”

  The doors of the elevator opened and John looked out, already knowing no one would be there. The hallway was indeed empty. He caught the man as he started to fall over and dragged him to his own apartment. He put the man on the prepared plastic sheets in his living room. He made tea and sat down in his chair, watching the unconscious criminal at his feet, waiting for the man to start to come by.

  “It’s curious,” He told the not-yet-dead body in front of him “I’ve always fought crime and here I am committing murder.” He smiled politely as he took another sip of his tea. The unconscious figure at his feet didn’t respond.

  “When you wake I’m going to strangle you,” He said. “I’m going to wrap rope around your neck and watch the life drain out of you.” His eyes were cold now. “Nothing you can do will stop that”

  He sipped his tea in quiet, keeping an eye on the time. He knew when the comatose man would regain consciousness.

  The not-quite-yet-dead body stirred a little almost exactly on the time John expected it to happen. He took a length of rope from the coil and wrapped it around the man’s neck. He tied it in a simple noose knot, opting for something that was quite easy to remove as well. He put his gloved hand on one part of the knot and started to pull at another as the near dead body started to realise what was going on and tried to struggle.

  John felt how the body went limp. He held the rope tightly for a while, making sure it was dead. He checked the pulse at it's neck, nothing. Oh that rope left such beautiful marks. John got up and admired the dead body. The body’s eyes peacefully closed. He put the rope away carefully. He wanted to keep it.

   John stuffed the body in a suitcase and changed. He had learned some things from Sherlock. How to wear a good disguise was one of them. He admired himself in the mirror for a moment. He could fool Greg like this. He left his cane as he took the suitcase with the body outside and to the spot he picked. He laid the body in an alley, making him look like a homeless person. He left the alley the way he came, around any CCTV and back home. He finally took the gloves off, made tea and tidied the plastic. He watched some rubbish thing on telly. He felt great.

 

****[september 2011, several days later]****

  “John!” Greg called with a smile as he walked into the pub.

  “Greg!” John answered, a friendly smile on his face “We haven’t spoken in too long.”

  “I agree.” his face showed some signs of tiredness.

  “Another case bugging you?” John asked, faking interest very well.

  “Yeah. Homicide.” Greg answered. “One of the criminals that got out after Sherlock...” Greg trailed off. “Anyway…” he said more decisively “Let’s not talk about that.”

  “Dimmock still being a pain?” John changed the subject before an uncomfortable silence could arise.

  “As always. Even more so now I’m working under him.”

  John nodded sympathetically “Pint?” He asked.

  “God, yes”

  John got up but then was faced with his leg bothering him again. He grimaced in pain.

  “I’ll get them” Greg offered quickly. “What do you want?”

  John was about to say that he wanted a pint but changed his mind “A coke please. Trying to quit.” he offered as explanation.

  “You got it.” Greg said and went to get the drinks. As he came back and they drank their drinks Greg didn’t ask anything triggering and moved around any subject related to Sherlock or alcohol. Instead they talked about women. When did people get so boring?

****

**[October 2011]**

  He woke up screaming. He had a nightmare again. He hadn’t had them since he strangled that criminal from his building almost a month ago. He sat up, knowing he already had made up his mind.

  He was going to kill again.

  This time he was going to plan it better though. Using his own place was not a good idea and he needed transport for the body that was better than a suitcase. He closed his eyes again. Work today.

  The whole day had been hell. He had had very annoying patients all morning. Then the tube ride home was possibly worse. He had been knocked over and the tube left without him, leaving to wait for the next.

  He brewed a strong cup of tea and sat down in his chair. He closed his eyes. If he was going to do this properly he needed to store all the information in his mind. He sipped his tea as he thought. He could get the medication, no problem. He needed a quiet place and a way to transport the bodies away. He could /almost/ hear Sherlock talk but just not understanding what he wanted to tell John.

  John sighed. He was hearing things. Again.

   He downed the cold tea and got up. He needed to look around if he actually was going to find a place. He took a deep breath and looked into his cabinet for clothes. What disguise today? He wondered. He settled on a slightly too big suit (gosh he lost weight). He put a hat on and looked in a mirror. Glasses would be a good idea. He set a mental reminder to buy a few glasses at the second hand store around the corner. This would have to do for now.

****

**[October 2011, several days later]**

  He found a location with surprising ease. A forgotten basement of an apartment building not too far from him. He had gotten some clothes, hats and glasses from the second hand store. He had also spotted a suitcase that seemed too small for a body but John knew that it would fit. He bought that as well. He’d even picked a victim. A blackmailer.

  He was working on a plan in his mind while seeing patients. They were too thick to even notice. He looked at the appointment schedule to see who his last appointment was. Anderson.     

   John’s fist balled again. He hated the man. Yet he was kind when he helped him. The blackmailer would have to wait. Anderson had made something up to hear John out again. It was all Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.

  “Buy me lunch,” He told Anderson with a well faked smile. “And I’ll answer some of your questions.”

  Anderson was all too happy to do this and John got their drinks as Anderson got the sandwiches. He dumped the drug into Anderson’s tea.

  “I want to show you something” He said to Anderson as they walked through the park. “But we can’t take a cab or the tube. No one else can find out. And turn off your phone”

  Anderson’s face lit up like a lightbulb. He agreed to this and did it. He followed John to the basement John had picked out.

  “You should finish your tea before it gets cold.” John said with a smile.

  “Good idea” Anderson replied and downed the half cold tea.

  John opened the basement door and led him down to it, locking the door behind him.

  “I do apologise for the secrecy Philip.” He said “You know with everything around Sherlock, one needs to be very careful”

  “Yes, yes. What is it? What is here?” Anderson asked eagerly. “Sherlock is still alive isn’t he? He’s here?”

  “Around the corner is where he stays regularly.” John lied. “I never know when he’ll turn up though.”

  Anderson practically leaped around the corner. There was nothing.

  “John? There’s nothing here”

  “Shit.” John cursed, sounding very upset. “He used to keep stuff here.” He looked around trying to find anything.

  Anderson patted John’s non injured shoulder “I believe you.”

  He reached for his head “Damn I feel dizzy.” he blinked. He tried to stay upright. John played the doctor well.

  “You should sit down. I’m here. Don’t worry.”

  Anderson sat down, getting dizzier and dizzier. John said sweet calming words until Anderson passed out. He shed the act easily, like Sherlock had done so often. He took the coil of rope out of the bag he had hidden in the corner and cut a good length off with an old combat knife from an old army surplus. He watched at the not-yet-dead-body at his feet. He once saw it as a friend but not anymore.

  “I’m going to enjoy it” He said. “I think I will be slow with you.” He smiled and sat down. He put the rope around the neck of the not-yet-dead-body. It was going to be a while until it would wake up again. He took out his book and read while he kept half an eye on it.

  It woke slightly sooner than he thought. He quickly dropped his book and grabbed the rope.

“John…” It groaned

  John pulled the noose tighter around the neck. The not quite so dead body started to struggle, gasping for air. This one struggled more than the last one. Must be that it had just eaten. John pulled the noose again.

  “John...” It gasped for air, mostly failing. There was utter betrayal in its eyes. Pain and fear across the face and John loved seeing it. John leaned close and whispers in it’s ear.

  “No one will know what happened here. No one will mourn about you. No one will care.” It stopped struggling, passing out and soon after it had died. John checked for a pulse. He cleaned away any trace of him there and stuffed the body in his suitcase.

  He went home to change into a disguise and went to drop off the body far away from his location and his home. It was some dump place. It already looked like a homeless person so he just dropped the body and left.

  He felt so good. The adrenaline in his body. The not having to walk with the cane. He walked home happily and made his tea.

****

**[March 2013, the day after Serbia.]**

  “There’s a serial killer Sherlock”

  “Hardly worth my time. Do some /legwork/ brother dear.” Sherlock said as his beard was shaven.

  “I just did” Mycroft reminded him “got you out”

  “No – I got me out. Why didn’t you intervene sooner?”

  “Well, I couldn’t risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything.”

  “You were enjoying it. “ Sherlock growled

  “Nonsense.” Mycroft countered

  “Definitely enjoying it.” Sherlock stated his deduction more calmly as he laid back and let the barber finish shaving him.

  “I didn’t know you spoke Serbian.” He stated once he sat up again and fixed his hair.

  “I didn’t,” Mycroft countered “But the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words.”  Mycroft shrugged calmly “Took me a couple of hours”

   “You’re slipping.” Sherlock stated calmly “And your accent was horrible. It’s a surprise they didn’t catch on to your mistakes.”

  “Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all.”

  “Still not an explanation of why I am here.”

  Mycroft tossed the file over to Sherlock “Eighteen murders in just as many months. No forensic evidence at all. No connections between victims. You /knew/ the second one.”

  Sherlock opened the file and looked over the names

  “I would hardly say I knew Anderson. Just some idiot from the yard.”

  “Your holiday is over Sherlock. Back to work.”

  “What about John?” Sherlock asked.

  Mycroft took a deep breath “Practically wants to punch anyone who mentions your name. Unstable.”

  Sherlock got up. “Good day, Mycroft”

****

**[September 2012]**

  John had fallen into a nice routine. He spent most of the month just fine. He put up this act for everyone around him that he was bitter and angry. He enjoyed the acting, but not as much as the killing. Once a month was enough and he was always careful to pick a criminal without kids. He wasn’t a horrible person after all. He put up a mind palace he was very proud of. It was mostly St Bart’s Hospital with a room from Baker Street. He was proud of it. He was proud of being able to outsmart everyone.

  He sipped his tea, his eyes closed and looking at his victims in his mind. He enjoyed revisiting them.

  There was someone knocking at the door. For how long had they been there? How did he not hear?

  “John?” Came Greg’s voice, a little worried. “John?”

  John blinked for a moment. He had completely forgotten he and Greg would go for a drink. He messed up his hair and came to the door. He opened it

 “Greg… I am sorry. I forgot.”

  Good thing he hadn’t shaven that day, yet. He looked quite bad and Greg picked up on it.

 “John” he said more sympathetic “Let’s make you a cuppa.” Greg’s caring mode immediately turned on and he walked John to his chair.

  “Greg… I’m sorry… I forgot…” he said quietly

  “Hush John. Let’s get you cleaned a little and a cuppa into you.”

  John blinked “What’s the point?”

  “The point, John” Greg reminded him “Is that we’re going out for a drink. For your birthday.”

Ah. Yes. That was what’s going on. His birthday was tomorrow

  “What’s the point of it? Harry hates me…. No one cares about me”

  “John” Greg's voice broke a little “I care.”

  John blinked, confused. Of course he manipulated Greg but he didn’t know he actually cared /that/ much.

  “Sorry.” John said quietly while rubbing his unshaven cheeks. “I’ll go have a shave and shower. Help yourself to a cuppa.”

  He walked to the bathroom. Good thing he didn’t keep anything in the living room. Greg had to be actively looking for anything if he were to find any clue. He may go through the cupboards to look for alcohol but wouldn’t find any. He had a quick shower (still a leftover habit from his army days) and shaved quickly. He came back freshly dressed in a casual shirt that felt comfortably like his uniform. He did his hair in the mirror in the living room

  “Sorry Greg.” he said again to the man who was drinking tea in his chair. Greg got up, his cup empty now.

“John” he said as he put his hand on John's shoulder “My mates and I have set up some

stuff for you.” Greg smiled “Let’s go.”

  John smiled thankfully and shrugged his coat on. Greg took John outside where a minivan was waiting with a few guys from the yard. He was greeted with some cheering “John!”

  “Where are we going?” John asked as he got in, a smile on his face, yet nervous.

  “We’re driving up to Stratford upon Avon and seeing a play. A comedy of course.”

  “Sounds good” John admitted and leaned back

  “Then after that an overnight stay in oxford.” Greg added

  “We called in a favour of the local police department” One of the other guys admitted.

****

  “How’s that case going?” John asked Greg after the play at the pub. None of the guys drank alcohol to support John and John felt good but he was curious as well.

  “Nothing.” Greg admitted. “We’re damn stuck. Dimmock is a pain about it as well. He can’t stand that he can’t solve it.”

  John nodded sympathetically “You must have something though?”

  “Nothing. No forensic evidence. No idea where he kills them. They can’t even decide on a profile. All I know.” He admitted “He’s so damn clever.”

****

  He enjoyed it. He really did. But he was glad to be back home. For about a day he thought he may push the killing back for a bit but soon he realized he needed the adrenaline fix. Like a junkie. That bothered him for about another day. Then he no longer cared. He was amazed that he could keep up his job and his appearances.

****

**[November 2012]**

  “Shit.” John cursed loudly as his next victim had woken a lot quicker than he anticipated. Must be used to drugs. He grabbed the rope and yanked hard at it. It tried to scream but failed as the rope cut off the air supply. He choked the not-yet-dead-body messily.

  It thrashed around and hit John. John stabbed it and watched as it bled and choked. He pulled the rope tighter and waited until it had died.

  He cursed. He needed to abandon this place now. He cleaned the room meticulously, getting rid of everything that would tie him to the location. He left the place and went home. He showered and got rid of the clothes. Too bad. He liked that disguise.

  He broke into Baker Street; not that anyone was apartment B. Mrs Hudson didn’t go in there either anyway. He took some of Sherlock’s stuff and some of his own. He hid them in his army trunk.

  He went out in his junky disguise to look for a new place. He enjoyed the acting more and more now. He is smarter than everyone. He can fool anyone. He’ll never get caught. He found himself a new location and listened to Greg talk about finding the crime scene and how Dimmock was so angry that they still didn’t find any evidence.

****

**[March 2013, two days after Serbia.]**

Sherlock watched John eat his lunch alone at a table at St Bart’s. He saw the cane John walked with and the tremor in his hand. He stared at his doctor, his blogger. He blinked, shocked. He didn’t know him leaving would do that to John. He left, upset.

  He sat on a roof of London, staring at the traffic down below. He tried to focus on the case but he felt his mind wander.

   _Not dead -SH_

He finally texted to Greg. Greg, at that moment, was sipping his coffee. He dropped his cup and texted back

_Told John yet? -Lestrade_

   _I’m on the serial killer case. I need details. Meet me at the place he used until two months ago ASAP. -SH_

****

  By the time Greg arrived Sherlock was already inside, looking around. Greg punched Sherlock without a doubt and then hugged him

  “You bloody git.”

  “Rather some mixed signals Detective Inspector.”

  “Detective Sergeant thanks to you.” Greg replied

  “We better fix that”

  “Where have you been?” Greg asked as Sherlock inspected the room.

  “Dismantling Moriarty’s network.” He admitted “He threatened to kill you and John and…” he trailed off. “But that’s not important anymore.”

  “Sherlock… Have you told John yet?” Greg tried

  “I’m done here.” Sherlock said, still going around the subject

  Greg walked out the door after Sherlock. As soon as he got an opportunity he shoved Sherlock against the wall “ANSWER ME!”

  “No I haven’t told John yet.” Sherlock said remarkably quiet.

“You left him a broken man, Sherlock” Greg said as he let go. Sherlock walked away.

 ******  
  
**

The next day Sherlock looked at every dumpsite of the murders. He looked at the pictures and started to make a profile.

_You’re looking for a man in his forties. He is probably a doctor or used to be. Probably armed forces. Something major in his life triggered him between 18 and 20 months ago. Will probably show mild psychopathic tendencies but not enough to get them fired from a job. He has little control in his life and is angry about this. Will give you more later today. -SH_

  “Dead man walking.” Came a voice in a heavy Scottish accent from behind Sherlock. He did not recognise it at once. He turned and stared right into John’s face. John was almost unrecognisable. He looked like a junky, exactly how he himself once told John how to do a convincing disguise.

  “Jo-ahh!” he was broken off as a syringe was stabbed into his stomach and emptied. Sherlock stumbled and tried to walk backwards. He got dizzy

  “I do apologise Sherlock” John said, his voice cold and clearly not sorry “I had to change my MO for you. But you are so special.”

  Sherlock stared at John as the pieces of the puzzle fell in its place. John was his killer. John had killed 18 people. That was the last thought that went through his mind before he passed out.

****

  Tap, tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Sherlock recognised the sound as someone pacing in front of him. Sherlock's hands were chained above his head so he could just sit up. His shirt was cut off his body and he tasted metal in his mouth. The room was concrete around him. It was small. Below ground. Some light coming from above him. Still day then.

  “Finally awake. Lovely.”

  “John…” he groaned softly

  “Tell me Sherlock. Tell me what you see.”

  Sherlock stared at John. He was shocked. John was enjoying himself. He felt smart.

  “You killed all those men.” Sherlock said. “And Anderson.”

  “Go on Sherlock. Tell me every little deduction” John grinned. Sherlock backed up a little; not that it was really possible.

  “You enjoyed it. Every single murder. The adrenaline rush was like a drug to you. You played everyone all those months. You are so proud of it. You’re going to show off everything you can do now before you’re going to attempt to kill me”

  “I won’t attempt Sherlock. I will succeed.”

  John put the rope around Sherlock's neck “You know what’s so lovely? This is your own rope. I took it with me when I left Baker Street. I’ve been using it for all my fun little games.”

  “John. Listen to yourself.” Sherlock insisted “You sound like Moriarty.”

  “You would know.” Countered John coldly.

  Sherlock tested the cuffs around his wrists. Tight and strong.

  “Keep talking Sherlock.” John told him

  “I rather think you want to tell me everything. You want to brag about it. You have been silent about it for all that time.”

 John grinned. “You're right. I was so clever. Everything you taught me. I was so good at the disguises. I acted like a broken man. It was so much fun. Playing the poor doctor with PTSD.” John grinned “The man with the cane. I even fooled you. Don’t think I don’t saw you watch me yesterday in St Bart’s.”

  Sherlock blinked. How did his blogger turn into this?

  “I made a mind palace.” John told him with a proud grin. “Kept my information there. And I fooled Greg so many times. It was such fun to fool everyone.” He traced a finger over Sherlock’s fresh wounds on his chest.

  “I’ve always used gloves of course. Not that hard to figure out. Now, what happened here? Who should I send flowers to thank for these lovely bruises?”

  “My brother.” Sherlock said dryly.

  “Ah, yes. Mycroft. I have a little surprise for him as well. It was a bit of a rush because you were demanding so much attention but I couldn’t not give him anything, now could I?”

  “Now, now, Sherlock.” John said with another grin, Sherlock never expected to see on John’s face.

  “John. You can still stop this!” He tried.

  “I’ve killed eighteen people Sherlock. I can’t.” He leaned forward “You made me” He got up again and turned away.

  “Maybe I should let you live with that notion. Knowing how you messed me up. The only person you ever cared about.” John slapped Sherlock as he wanted to reply “You get no say in this. You wanted me to talk so I shall talk. Shut your mouth.”

  “My first kill was a criminal you caught who got free because you needed to be so dramatic with faking your death. I strangled him in my own apartment. You’ve seen where I strangled most of the rest. Including Anderson. He really shouldn’t have talked on and on about you.”

  He pulled an expression of extreme disgust. “He went on and on and he was just begging to be shut up. I did everyone a favour.”

  He yanked at the rope around Sherlock's neck and held it tight for a moment, only long enough to make Sherlock dizzy.

  “I’m going to enjoy this.” He admitted to Sherlock. “I’m going to do this slowly. The rest of the bodies was quick but I will take my time with you. You’re so special to me.”

  “John.” Sherlock begged with a choked voice “John please….”

  “I haven’t quite decided what to do after I leave that lifeless body of you here. I may just confess to Greg. Tell him how you didn’t see it coming. How I outsmarted him all those times.”

  “Please John” Sherlock pleaded again. John was about to answer Sherlock when his phone went. He picked up.

  “Greg. Hi.” his voice was suddenly flat again as he turned around, his back to Sherlock. He sounded tired and sad and utterly broken “No not today…. I’m really not in the mood. I don’t care what news you have. Bye Greg.” He hung up and smiled, not yet turning to Sherlock “See, I can do this brilliantly.”

  A hand grabbed his wrist and something stung in his neck.

  “I’m sorry John” Sherlock's kind voice whispered before John passed out.

 

 

****[when john woke up]** **

  “I’ll do anything Mycroft” Sherlock said seriously. “And you know I mean /anything/.”

  “Fine.” Mycroft answered. “I will make sure he is looked after.”

  Johns head felt heavy as he heard the voice loudly in his head. He groaned. He felt the hospital clothes around him and knew exactly what had happened. It wasn’t a hard deduction after all.

  “John.” Sherlock's voice came as he noticed John had woken “John. You’re safe now.”

John groaned again.

  “You’re in a hospital” Sherlock explained needlessly. “I called in a lot of favours. You’ll stay here. You don’t have to go to prison. It’s the only way I can protect you.” He tenderly kisses Johns forehead. “I’m sorry.”

 


	2. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock visits John in the hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long to publish the epilogue. I've been arguing with it for a while.

**[Several weeks later]**

  “How is he?” Sherlock asked the doctor in charge of John.

  “He refuses to talk to any of the nurses or doctors, including myself.”

  “Wasn’t what I asked”

  “He sits in his room, thinking. He hardly eats or drinks and sometimes attacks nurses.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “I’ll walk you to his room”

  The doctor answered and walked Sherlock to one of the rooms. He took out his key and opened the door for Sherlock. John was sitting on the floor next to his bed, with his legs crossed. He looked older than ever and he was thinner than he ever had been. John’s face was blank as he stared at the wall, he was clearly in his mind palace. Sherlock walked in and sat down opposite of John on the floor, mirroring his posture.

  "John..." Sherlock said quietly, "why?"

  "You know why." John countered, the same cold voice.

  "You needed the adrenaline..."

  "You weren't there."

  "Is this place okay for you?"

  "Didn't realize you could feel guilt."

  Sherlock looked away, not answering

  "How did it feel Sherlock?" John asked a moment later, "being outsmarted by me?"

  "Why couldn't you just get into fights?"

  John hadn't shown any emotion since Sherlock came in. Without a warning, he grabbed Sherlock's throat and put pressure on the blood supply to Sherlock's brain, grinning. Nurses rushed in but Sherlock motioned for them to stay back. John let go a moment before Sherlock would have passed out.

  "Leave." Sherlock told the nurses, "It will be fine."

  The nurses doubted for a moment but then left.

  "You want adrenaline. Alright. Let's fight" Sherlock said and got up, shedding his coat, wearing a purple shirt under it.

  John didn't move.

  "Go on. You want to hurt me, obviously. But not just anything. You want me to fight back. You want to fight me and win. So give it your best shot. Show me what you've got Doctor Watson"

  John got up slowly, his limb was back. He walked towards Sherlock and raised his arm to punch. Then he suddenly grabbed Sherlock’s wrist with his other hand and turned Sherlock around, his arm on his back. He shoved Sherlock against the wall and pressed his body against Sherlock, trapping him.

  "Go on Sherlock, struggle."

  Sherlock moved around, trying to push john away without hurting him. John pushed Sherlock’s arm up further, nearly breaking it.

  "Keep going but be careful. Struggle too hard and you'll break your own arm"

Sherlock struggled around a little before managing to escape johns grip. He moved away a little. John panted a little bit finally there was a hint of an emotion on his face. He had enjoyed it. Sherlock sat down again.

  "You can't stay like this forever john. There's an experimental drug that may help. Plus, if you start communicating you may be able to get a more comfortable room and more things around."

  "Let's do this again next week."

  "If you start talking to them."

  "I guess this is goodbye then" John said, back to his cold self.

  Sherlock got up silently and put his coat back on slowly. "I am sorry about all this. You may not believe me but I am." Sherlock said as he walked the few paces to the door

  "I'll see you next week Sherlock Holmes" John finally replied a second before Sherlock closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone told me it needed an epilogue so i caved. Special thanks to my personal spell check (if it's you, you know it)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback appreciated.


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